


Young Hunters

by HunterWhoLived67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterWhoLived67/pseuds/HunterWhoLived67
Summary: (Rewrite of Always Weird, Never Normal)Life has never been easy for Dean Winchester. Since his mother's death he's had a big responsibility; protecting his younger brother Sam, keeping the demons away and being more or less the adult when he's only a child. However, sometimes these burdens come at a price and occasionally people just need a break. A chance at a normal life.





	Young Hunters

Chapter 1: His Responsibilty

Parked at the side of the road, there was a 1967 Chevy Impala. Her black paintwork glistened under the full moon, suggesting that her owner took pride in making sure she was clean.   
On the backseat, there were two boys. The younger one, with a brown mop of hair, looked quite comfortable sleeping on his brother's shoulder. The older boy, however, wasn't asleep. Instead he had taken it upon himself to watch over his little brother, as they waited for their father to return. 

A sudden tap on the window altered him, followed by a voice saying, “Dean, open the door.” 

Upon noticing a bloody and bruised version of his father, Dean unlocked the car door, "How'd it go?” He asked, after his father climbed into the driver's seat. 

"It went okay. The werewolf is dead but..." Dean gave his father a concerned look when he heard him trail off, 

"Dad, what is it?" Dean asked as he placed his hand on John's shoulder. Dean was no more than thirteen years old, yet he had taken over the parental role more times than he could count. If he wasn't protecting Sam, then he would be making sure his father's okay. 

"It got pretty gruesome after I arrived. The werewolf attacked a guy it was holding hostage, so I had to put the guy down..." John cleared his throat, "No matter. It's just part of the job. Now let's get outta here." John added before he started the engine. Despite his strong act, Dean could tell that his father was far from okay. He couldn't imagine killing an innocent person, even if they had been turned into a monster. 

Dean bit his lip as he leaned removed his hand from his father’s shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for John not to acknowledge Dean’s comfort, but despite this, Dean could tell that he appreciated it. Sometimes silence meant more than words, and that was definitely the case with the Winchesters. 

Whilst their father drove, Dean kept his arm wrapped tightly around his brother, as if he was protecting him from whatever was out there. Of course there was nothing out there right now, except for a few trees at the side of the road, and a poorly lit gas station up ahead, but ever since his mother’s death, Dean knew he couldn’t be too careful, especially when it came to his little brother. The one Dean had sworn to protect and not let anything happen to.

The corner of Dean’s lips curved up into a small smile as he looked down at his brother. Sam was just a child. Someone who still had his innocence and his whole life ahead of him. He didn’t know about hunting, monsters or the truth behind their mother’s death, and Dean intended to keep it that way for as long as he could. Nobody knew, not even their father, how much Dean longed for Sam to live a normal life. A life where he lived in a house with a white picket fence and a family he would come home to everyday, not a life where he would have to deal with horror and death on a weekly, if not daily, basis. Dean already knew it was too late for him, but it wasn’t for Sam. He could live a long, happy life, and Dean would make sure of that. 

Sam began to stir and bolted up, panicking because he couldn’t recall where he was, “Dean?” He said, his eyes darting frantically around the dark car, 

“Sam.” Dean called as he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Sammy. Hey, you’re okay. Dad’s here now. We’re in the car.” Dean explained softly, as he pulled Sam into a hug to calm him down. Sam was still young and was prone to having nightmares, and when he did, he often found himself reaching out to Dean, as he seemed to be the only person who could truly provide the comfort he needed. 

“Where are we going?” Sam eventually asked when he saw them passing a line of street lights and a sign saying that they were exiting Minnesota.

“We’re heading to a motel for the night.” John replied, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“Can we stop somewhere and get something to eat first? I’m hungry.” 

“No, we haven’t got time.” John spoke bluntly, 

“You always say that.” Sam pointed out, not willing to let this drop, 

“Well that’s because it’s true. There’s a can of Spaghetti-O’s in the trunk. You can have that when we get to a motel.” John suggested, 

Sam sighed, “But I’m sick of Spaghetti-O’s. I’ve had them three times this week and it’s only Wednesday.” He complained, “Can’t I have Lucky Charms?” He asked,

“There aren’t any left.” Dean replied,

“But there was some this morning!” Sam argued,

“Boys.” John glanced in the rear view mirror as he gave Sam a stern look, as if to tell him to stop arguing with his brother,

“But dad I don’t want Spaghetti-O’s.” Sam persisted, but just as John was about to respond, three police cars overtook the Impala, their blue lights flashing and sirens on full volume. 

Dean leaned closer to the window in an attempt to see where the police cars were going, “It looks like they're heading for town.” Dean announced, before he turned to his father, “Do you think it has something to do with...Your job?” Dean was quick to correct himself, as Sam was still unaware of the family business and Dean would hate it if he found out. Of course as Sam was getting older, the harder it became for Dean to keep secrets from him, as he wanted to know everything he could about their father's job and why he wasn't around. Therefore, it didn't surprise Dean when Sam said, 

“I thought dad was a salesman.” 

“It could just be a regular murder or robbery.” John explained, ignoring what Sam said. 

Sam let out a sigh as he sat back in his seat. He was tired of being ignored or never getting a straight answer from Dean or his father. He was sure that they were keeping secrets from him, ever since he caught a glimpse of a strange drawing in his father's journal. Dean was reading it one night when Sam saw the drawing; however, before he could make out what was written on the page, Dean was quick to put the journal away. He even went as far as taking it with him when he went out and left Sam in the motel. Whatever was in that journal was something that neither John and Dean wanted him to know, and Sam was determined to find out what it was. 

It wasn't long before the Impala pulled into a motel parking lot and eventually came to a stop. Sam opened the door and climbed out of the car. The motel didn't look like much. In fact, the sign outside was only partly lit, with one of the letters missing from the name of the motel. 

“Great…” Sam muttered under his breath. They had stayed in three different motels in the last two months, and honestly, Sam was growing tired of them. They were all the same: one room with two beds, a couch, a TV, a bathroom that's barely big enough for one, and a kitchenette. Sam would've preferred it if they stayed at the warm, welcoming home of their uncle, Bobby Singer. 

Both boys waited next to the Impala until their father had booked them into a motel room for the night, at which point Dean grabbed their bags from the trunk and carried them into the room. Sam was quick to choose the bed next to the window. It wasn't the comfiest bed they'd slept in, but it was better than nothing. 

“Don’t bother unpacking too much. We’ll be hitting the road first thing in the morning.” John said as he made his way over to the couch, which was where he would be spending the remainder of the night. 

“Hey dad, you sure you don’t want to sleep in the bed tonight?” Dean asked, offering to give up his own bed for his father. After all, it wasn’t like he would be getting much sleep, not since tomorrow was supposed to be his mother’s birthday. Dean was only four years old when she died, so he didn’t have many memories of his time with her, but what memories he did have, were perfect. 

“No, I’m good. There’s some stuff I need to do.” John replied, 

After he’d finished unpacking, Dean walked over to a plastic bag that had been left on the counter. Inside the bag there was a can of Spaghetti-O’s and a box of Lucky Charms, which contained just enough cereal for one bowl. Dean looked from the can of Spaghetti-O’s to the Lucky Charms. He had lied to Sam in the car. There was Lucky Charms. In fact there was just enough for one bowl, but Dean had planned on having them for dinner, as he hadn’t had any yet. Lucky Charms wasn’t just Dean’s favorite cereal, but Sam’s too. The brothers often fight over who got the toy at the bottom of the box. Of course, by fighting, Dean would challenge Sam to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, of which Dean always lost, whether it be accidentally, or on purpose so that Sam could have the toy. 

Dean looked over at Sam, and he let out a deep sigh as he saw his brother lay on his bed, with a sad expression on his face. Dean bit his lip then looked back at the box of Lucky Charms in the plastic bag. As much as he wanted them, Sam’s happiness meant more, and if he could cheer his brother up by making him one of his favorite meals, then so be it. 

“Screw it.” Dean muttered under his breath as he grabbed the box of Lucky Charms and poured the remainder of the contents in the bowl. A small smile formed on his face when a plastic, green army man fell into the cereal he’d just poured. He looked over at Sam before quickly swiping it and putting it into his pocket. 

“Hey Sammy, dinner’s ready.” Dean eventually announced, 

“I’m not hungry.” Sam mumbled into his pillow, 

“Then I guess I’ll just have to finish the last bowl of Lucky Charms myself.” 

Sam bolted up and leaped over to the table in the kitchenette, “No, these are mine.” He smiled as he picked up a spoon Dean put out for him; however, as he was about to take his first mouthful, he paused, “Wait, where’s the toy?”

“What toy?” Dean said as he fiddled with the plastic army man in his pocket, 

“The toy that’s usually in a box of Lucky Charms.” Sam stated, “Dean, where is it?” By now Sam’s smile had faded and he was now looking at Dean with a pleading, puppy dog eye expression. 

“It’s uh…” Dean sighed in defeat and took the plastic army man from his pocket, putting it down on the table next to where Sam was sitting, “There. It’s just a stupid toy anyway.” 

Now that Sam was eating, Dean was finally able to think about having something to eat himself. He often put Sam before himself, even if he was hungry and hadn’t eaten all day, he would still make sure Sam had something, as he was his first priority, and always had been, ever since his father had put him in his arms on the dreadful night of November 2nd, 1983. Since then, Dean had become more than just Sam’s big brother. He was his carer, his mother and his father. He was the one Sam relied on the most, so Dean felt like he had to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t let his brother down. Of course there had been a couple of time where Dean had complained, like the time he couldn’t go to the game’s arcade because Sam had caught the flu and Dean had to take care of them because their father was working. But really, Dean didn't mind. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to Sam, or neglect him so that he could do what he wanted. Sam was still just a child, so he needed someone to take care of him. Someone who would teach him things about the world, nurture him and protect him when he needed it, and Dean had always been the one to take on that responsibility, even when his father hadn’t asked him to. 

Sam had finished eating, and Dean had already started to clean up when he saw his father carrying a duffel bag to the front door, “Where are you going, dad?” Dean asked as he made his way over to his father, 

“I have a lead on what seems like a werewolf. It killed someone just over an hour ago in the centre of town. I’m going to go and check it out.” John explained, just loud enough for Dean to hear. “Now, I trust you know what to do while I’m away.”

Dean nodded, “Lock the doors, the windows and close the shades, salt every door and window, and watch out for Sammy. I’ve got it.” He explained confidently, 

“And if something tries to bust in?” John asked, 

“Shoot first, ask questions later.” 

John gave Dean a proud pat on the shoulder, “That’s my man.” Was all he said before he left the motel room, leaving Dean to lock up after he closed the door behind him. 

Dean was used to John going over the same instructions whenever he left the boys on their own. In fact, if Dean thought about it, he could even hear his father saying it. Dean didn’t just have to take care of Sam and teach him simple things such as how to tie his shoelaces and how to count, but it was also his responsibility to make sure Sam was safe. Every night he would put a line of salt at the windows and doors to make sure no monsters could enter the motel room. In fact, ever since a Striga almost killed Sam several years ago, Dean had taken extra precautions to keep his brother safe; he would never forgive himself if he slipped up and something happened to him. There were times when Dean wondered if telling Sam the truth would be easier. Yes, he would be able to somewhat protect himself if a monster did enter and it would save all the questions, but Dean doubted if he could ever bring himself to tell Sam the truth. Sam was just a child. A child who had a chance at a normal life. A child who had dreams about his future and believed that there was still good in the world. Dean, however, knew that he would be hunting monsters for the rest of his life. It was the family business. In fact, he had given up on any other career aspirations. When he was four years old, he wanted to be a fireman. The thought of being able to save people excited him, but ever since his mother’s death, anything to do with firefighting had disinterested Dean. And not only that, but he had learned that saving people wasn’t as glorified as it was made out to be. Yes, saving people itself was its own reward, but the horrors that went along with that wasn’t. Dean was yet to go on his first hunt, yet he had already seen and read about numerous horrors that he wondered how he even slept at night. 

“Dean, where did dad go?” Sam asked after a couple of hours of the brothers being left on their own. 

“He has some work to do.” Dean replied, not looking up from the car magazine he was reading, 

“What can he sell at 9 O’clock at night?” Sam asked, beginning to doubt what his brother was saying, 

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s helping Santa Claus.” Dean replied sarcastically, 

Sam scoffed, “Christmas is a month away.” Sam climbed over the back of the couch so that he was now standing in front of his brother, who was sitting on his bed, “Come on, you can tell me the truth.” 

“I already have. Dad’s out selling stuff.” 

“What kind of stuff?” 

Dean shrugged, “Just stuff.” 

“You’re hiding something, and I want to know what it is.” 

Dean sighed as he slammed his magazine down on the bed, “I’m not hiding anything. Now quit asking questions.”

“Dean. I can tell when you’re lying.” Sam argued, 

“I’m not lying!” Dean snapped accidentally, not out of anger but from the worry of Sam finding out. Dean stood up and threw his denim jacket over the top of his AC/DC t-shirt. “Get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“Where are you going?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows,

“Out.” Was all Dean replied before he left the motel room. He needed to get some air before the discussion turned into an argument. It was the anniversary of his mother’s death, so Dean wasn’t in the mood to argue with his brother. 

He leaned against the wall outside the motel room, before he slid down and put his knees to his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph that had been folded in half. When he unfolded it, it revealed a picture of his mother, holding a toddler Dean in her arms. Dean smiled sadly as he looked down at the picture, a spilling down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away. “I’m sorry, Mom.” His voice cracked as he closed his eyes. Nobody knew, not even his father, how much Dean wished that his mother was still alive. If she was here, then he doubted if his father would be a hunter. They would’ve grown up and lived in a house with a white picket fence. Dean would’ve been a mechanic, whereas Sam would either have been a lawyer or a writer. 

Dean kept his eyes closed as he tried to remember his mother’s voice. She was kind and always fussed him. She baked pie for him and cut the crusts off his PB&J, something that Dean missed to this day. Something that he would give anything to experience again. Just one more time. 

Dean’s eyes opened and his head shot up when he heard a crash coming from a nearby motel room. It sounded a lot like a window had been opened. “Sam?” Dean spoke, worrying present in his tone of voice as he stood up. “Sammy?” He ran towards his motel room, but when he turned the corner his heart dropped and his face turned white. 

“SAM!” Dean screamed, loud enough for the whole town to hear.

The window to their motel room had been broken. In fact, it had been smashed into millions of tiny pieces, as if somebody, or something had broken in. 

Actually, it was definitely something.   
A monster.   
A monster that had Sam.


End file.
